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Who Do I Have to F**K

I took a hot shower; I powdered my noseI smelled like a flower, a daisy or roseI made up my eyes and I painted my lipsI polished my nails with those false Lee Nail tips

I've done what I can; I've nursed many a beerI've bided my time it seems year after yearBut I can't get a pinch or a wink or a leerTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

I ordered a pizza at quarter to threeI stood in the cold wearing pads on each kneeI had nuts and Doritos and Bud Light on iceThe Domino’s guy might just stay for a slice

I've tried being coy and I've tried being cheapI've tried to slip into their beds while they sleep

I’ve done what I can; I’ve shed many a tearI’m not being picky or shy or austereAs long as he breathes and has most of his gearTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

I‘ve pushed up my breasts with a push up brassiereI’m dressing myself for a brand new careerI stand on the corner with trannies and hosI wave at the drivers but nobody slows

I’ve tried getting drunk and I’ve tried getting highI’ve slipped me a mickey to help out the guy

I've done what I can; I've no shame and no fearI've thought long and hard and I'm sure I'm not queerBut I can't get a date or arrested, that’s clearTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

Around here

Who Do I Have to F**K

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Who Do I Have To Fuck

I took a hot shower; I powdered my noseI smelled like a flower, a daisy or roseI made up my eyes and I painted my lipsI polished my nails with those false Lee Nail tips

I've done what I can; I've nursed many a beerI've bided my time it seems year after yearBut I can't get a pinch or a wink or a leerTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

I ordered a pizza at quarter to threeI stood in the cold wearing pads on each kneeI had nuts and Doritos and Bud Light on iceThe Domino’s guy might just stay for a slice

I've tried being coy and I've tried being cheapI've tried to slip into their beds while they sleep

I’ve done what I can; I’ve shed many a tearI’m not being picky or shy or austereAs long as he breathes and has most of his gearTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

I‘ve pushed up my breasts with a push up brassiereI’m dressing myself for a brand new careerI stand on the corner with trannies and hosI wave at the drivers but nobody slows

I’ve tried getting drunk and I’ve tried getting highI’ve slipped me a mickey to help out the guy

I've done what I can; I've no shame and no fearI've thought long and hard and I'm sure I'm not queerBut I can't get a date or arrested, that’s clearTell me, who do I have to fuck to get laid around here?

Around here

Fishsticks

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Fishsticks

What's a fishstick? I don't knowIs it blowfish with no blow?Is it whale fat? Is it tripe?If it's striped bass, where's the stripe?

Held together with some spit Then left out in the sunThat's why fishsticks taste like shitWhen the cookin's done

How'd they get their fishstick shape?I wish I knewElmer’s and some masking tapeIt’s a secret known to fewThey won’t tell you

Poor little fishticks, got no gutsGot no fish heads, got no buttsWhere's his fish tail? Where's his eyes?Where's his fish mouth, when he cries?

If Only (The Ballad of '93)

(If only it was cool to be in chorus, or ride the bus, or have a bottom locker. If only you had to have fat thighs to make cheerleading squad. If only you had to be a virgin to be homecoming queen.)

If only I was very tall and very, very thinIf only I had big huge breasts and pretty clothes to put them inIf only I was very rich or I was royaltyOr had a very special niche, the center of which was me

If only I was someone else, I might have found happiness soonerIf only I was Daryl Hannah And you were John Kennedy Jr.And you were John Kennedy Jr.

I never was a pom pom girl with lips of cherry redI didn't make my straight hair curl; I didn't give great head

If only I played tennis well or looked good in a fezIf only I was Paula Abdul And you were Emilio EstevezAnd you were Emilio Estevez

Remember Lady GuinevereIn old days she was hotNot only did she bag King ArthurBut she fucked Lance a lot

If only I was like a goldfish and not some anchovyIf only you were Jon Bon Jovi And I was Mrs. Jon Bon JoviAnd I was Mrs. Jon Bon Jovi

Kaplan's Messiah

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Kaplan's Messiah

Where were you when Sparky died from falling through the ice?He barked until his voice was fried; that wasn't very niceWhere were you when Uncle Saul was choking on a plum?No one did the Heimlich cause we thought that you would come

Was that you dressed up as Jesus Christ on Halloween?Can't you give me just a hint if you were Ben Vereen in Pippin?

Were you there when Little Sue was missing in the snow?We found her when the spring rains came; I guess the answer's noMother went to jail for writing thousands in bad checksWere you in the shower then, asleep or having sex?

Were you there that fateful night they made the atom bomb?Were you there the night I got my period at the prom?

Did you give us up for Lent? Do you know where Jimmy Hoffa went? If you sent Rabbi Schneerson, was he meant to see us through?‘Cause he is dead now, too

I looked for you in synagogue; I didn’t see you thereI don’t like going either so that doesn’t seem quite fairThe story goes you’d come to lead the faithful and the trueAs things stand now I’d sooner trust my fate to Scooby Doo

It is obvious that you and your husbandHave less than good sex (baby or no baby)That your husband has to suffer from blue balls or jerk himself offIs a crying shame (baby or no baby)I was in the same boat with my first wife CarolineA good woman, a good woman, a good womanBut a lousy wife

I can’t begin to tell you how much sexual joy I have With my new lady friend (baby or no baby)Your article may give others the impression your approach to sexIs natural (baby or no baby)You are in the same boat, with my first wife CarolineA good woman, a good woman, a good womanBut a lousy wife

It is obvious that you and your husbandHave less than good sex (baby or no baby)That your husband has to suffer from blue balls or jerk himself offIs a crying shame (while you nurse the baby)We’re all in the same boat with my first wife CarolineA good woman, a good woman, a good womanBut a lousy wife, a lousy wife

School Supplies

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

School Supplies

You were always there when I needed youIf I screwed up you let me start againYou helped me out a million times, as if on cueThen one day, with no warning, came the endWould someone kindly tell me why erasers die?

Why don’t erasers last as long as pencils do?You’re left with half a pencil now, which might as well be inkWhy doesn’t some bright scientist do something to erasersThat keeps them soft and pink?Who on God’s green earth knows why erasers die

You’ve been around for all my life or so it seemsYou’ve held my shit together for so longWithout you I would not know where to find my dreamsSince you let me go it’s all been wrongHow can I describe the ache when rubber bands break?

What happens to the rubber that it gets all rough and dry And starts to crack and harden and your stuff all ends up on the floor?Why doesn’t some smart A.P. Chem. kid come up with a better rubber?That’s what brains are forIt’s almost just too hard to take; rubber bands break

This song is not a metaphor for anythingNot everything’s a metaphor Some things have intrinsic value and don’t represent emotions Like the way you felt when your dog died of leukemia

You filled my world with color since the early daysYou never called me nuts or asked me whyYou let me mix you up a million different waysUntil the love you gave me all ran dryIt’s sadder than a dying pup; markers dry up

Is this a stupid question, well I’ll ask it, anywayWhy do they call them magic markers when they’re really colored pens?You want to call them magic they should sing or drive a car Or make you prettier than your friendsFor Christ’s sake put the caps on tight and it’ll be all right

Bride of Christ

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Bride of Christ

I dreamt I was the bride of ChristWe married Christmas dayWe honeymooned in RioWhere we danced the nights away

We walked on the beach and we swam in the seaAnd we made love in the sandI said to myself, wow, this man once was deadThat’s some thing he can do with his hand

But when we got home and the real work beganOn the life we would build for ourselvesI found out Mr. I was a carpenter onceCouldn’t build me some stinking bookshelves

I said, you’re the frigging MessiahYou can save the human raceBut you can’t put two pieces of wood on the wallAnd nail them into place

Hip Hip Hooray

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Hip Hip Hooray

He wasn’t the tallest, he wasn’t the bravestHe wasn’t the wisest of menHe didn’t win races or climb any mountainsHe didn’t quote Tocqueville or ZenHe didn’t slay lions or bearsHe was not good at showing he caresAs lovers go he wasn’t badNow the man’s dead and I’m glad

He didn’t like smiling. He whistled ad nauseamHis family gave me the creepsHis fingers smelled funny. He sweated profuselyHe thought that he had me for keepsBut luckily you came alongAnd now I’m here singing this songYour car knocked him right on his headHip hip hooray, now he’s dead

He hated small children. He killed someone’s puppyI married him under duressHis buttocks were hairy. He’d only one testicleI caught him once wearing a dressBut one thing I love I have foundI love that he’s deep undergroundSo one last time let it be saidTra la la la la, he’s dead

Vomit If You Must

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Vomit If You Must

I hope you don’t mind, I’ve got something big to sayYou don’t look a thing like your old self todayYou look like something bad the dog dragged through the dustYou look like something sad that needs to be discussed

I tell you now with all humilityI know just how you feel; it feels the same to meYou took in more than you could; now you want to bustHey, baby, it’s okay, vomit if you must

Go ahead and vomit on your plate or on the floorVomit in the bag of chips that way you won’t want moreEverybody barfs sometimes; it’s icky but it’s trueAs long as you don’t barf on me, I don’t mind if you do

Sometimes I have to puke from how my dinner looksWhile it lays there on the counter just before it cooks That lobster with his head on, he sure makes me feel unsteady The green stuff that’s inside him looks like someone puked already

And olives with pimentos in them, what the fuck are those?Did someone blow their chunks, pimentos coming out their nose?Then getting lodged in olives and you know what happens then?Just pop ‘em in your mouth and start the cycle up again

Go ahead and vomit at the movies or the zooDon’t linger in the monkey house; they’ll eat it if you doEverybody barfs sometimes; it’s icky but it’s trueAs long as you don’t barf on me, I don’t mind if you do

Would you like a glass of ginger ale or a cool washcloth on your face?I’ll hold your hair back if you have that kind of hairIt means I love you, baby. Do you love me the same way?Tell me, will you get me ginger ale, a washcloth, hold my hair back?

Everybody likes to chill out on their best friends medsThe yellows make you mellow, then you rebound on the redsThat’s the time to drive until you find an open barBut don’t leggo your Eggo till you get out of my car

Those orange whisky sours were so pretty going in But they’ll look different later when they’re dribbling down your chinI said I loved you baby, and I always want you nearBut for tonight I’ll love you while I’m standing over here

Go ahead and vomit on your lap or in your hairPut the Champagne punch back in the punchbowl, if you dareEverybody barfs sometimes; it’s icky but it’s trueAs long as you don’t barf on me, I don’t mind if you doYeah baby don’t you barf on me and I won’t barf on you

Merry Christmas to You

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Merry Christmas To You

Bells are ringing, revelers mingling Lights are lighting up the skyBe of good cheer, all is well here You could get a contact high

That’s what Christmas doesIt spreads the warmth; it makes you buzzedIt opens us to what will beAnd it forgives us for what was

That’s what Christians doThey love each other through and throughI hope they have some left for meBecause it turns out I’m a JewMerry fucking Christmas to you

What I’d really like is a mountain bike And a fifty-inch TVBut I’ll get socks or alarm clocks Or a pen engraved to me

Gingivitis Can Kill You

Written By: Cynthia Kaplan

Gingivitis Can Kill You

Remember when Aunt Shirley died? We thought she had the fluShe maybe had phlebitis and some indigestion, tooBut truth be told it was a tiny peanut that got lostThat stuck and festered in her gums—if only she had flossedIf only she had flossed

A raisin is your enemy; a carrot’s not your friendA sesame or poppy seed could mean the bitter endA tiny piece of chewing gum that split off from the wadAn apple skin, a candy corn, a popcorn hull, oh, GodA popcorn hull, oh, God

Gingivitis can kill youBet you didn’t knowForget to brush for just one dayBacteria can growIt doesn’t matter if you’re eating goldfish on a dareYou could be the Queen of EnglandGingivitis doesn’t care

Remember when the boy next door was beat up by some thugsSome say he died of head wounds and some say that it was drugsBut I heard that some months before his mother made a pieThe coroner said fungus from a rhubarb made him dieThe rhubarb made him die

Gingivitis can kill youNo one will be sparedIt starts quite small but then it growsWhere cancer never daredA cupcake could be lethal and a lamb chop your last courseA Brussels sprout or broccoli spear Takes life with out remorse

No one lives forever, there are hazards everywhereIn many an endeavor there are reasons to bewareThere’s always some big study on the risks of tooth decayBut you won’t need your teeth if gingivitis has its wayIt always has its way

Hey, Gingivitis can kill youPerhaps already hasYou’re sitting there; you’re unawareTonight could be your lastThat you just saw your dentist doesn’t matter, not a bitHe could be the Pope in RomeGingivitis doesn’t give a shit